


round and round, around you

by naupathia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naupathia/pseuds/naupathia
Summary: Sylvain gets chosen as their class's representative for the White Heron Cup. He recruits Felix's help for practice.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	round and round, around you

**Author's Note:**

> yeah idk i wrote this back in march for a sylvain week prompt while i was going fucking bonkers over quarantine

He’s getting careless. 

It didn’t matter that the last mission they’d been on had been under non-ideal circumstances. Smoke, not unlike fog, forces one to fight with poor visibility. It’s a handicap their teachers cannot replicate, something that must be learned out on the field. But Felix was taught to expect such conditions, be prepared for them, so - he must be growing complacent. Really, their professor was coddling them all, having them rely on each other so much. It was making him weaker as a standalone asset. 

All they’d been tasked with was rescuing some townspeople. Easy. From each other, which was unusual, sure? But the average commoner didn’t have access to formal combat training or military-grade weaponry, so it shouldn’t have made it hard to keep them from maiming each other.

It was one moment in a hundred, but he felt himself clinging to it with the fervor of a dog that wouldn’t drop a toy. He'd gotten separated from the man he’d been trying to help by heaps of mortared rubble and flames that had begun to reach the height of his waist. He had been so focused on finding a path around to reach him that he’d failed to spot one of the afflicted villagers approaching from the opposite side. By the time he took notice, the man had sunk a handaxe into the meat of the other villager’s bicep. Felix had hardly had the time to react before Ashe, from a couple yards behind Felix, took aim and loosed a killing shot into the base of the assailant’s skull. And that was that. 

The villager did survive. The axe wound he took was deep; all blood and ravaged muscle, but it wasn’t immediately fatal, at least. Not a death sentence. But still preventable, and still due to his own negligence. 

It’s been two days since they’ve returned from Remire, and Felix has hardly left the training grounds since then. Twice, to eat, and only because Ingrid dragged him. (Like, literally, actually dragged him. It wasn't a proud moment.)

The boar’s made himself scarce around him since the mission. Good. Felix can’t say he was shaken at the outburst, because that would mean it surprised him. It hadn’t. He’s known all along, of course, but - he’s getting complacent. Despite everything, the atmosphere here felt disarmingly laid-back. If he pushes himself enough, maybe he can remedy that. 

It’s not enough. The bundles of wicker they have propped up are serviceable as stationary targets, but they’re next to useless for practicing his reflexes. He was able to get a good practice match out of Leonie once, and later again with that really loud guy from the Eagles, but whenever they left for something-or-other, he had to make do with these. 

“Sheesh. What’d that thing ever do to you?”

What did test his reflexes, however, was someone trying to sneak up on him. Felix counts the seconds ( _one second, two, two-and-a-half which is_ far _too long_ ) that it takes for him to whirl on his heel to face the nuisance of the hour. He’s still in an offensive stance, though he supposes he’ll be dropping it soon.

Sylvain only gives him the bland, fearless look of someone going through a routine. He raises his hands, open-palmed. Placating. “Alright, put the claws away, buddy. It’s just me.”

“Failing to see how that’s incentive for me.”

“Ouch,” he says. “And I’ve been trying so hard to find you! I was starting to think you went off and became a monk or something. The professor said you’d be here, though. Should’ve figured.” 

“What? I’d never be a monk.” 

“Right, you’ve never been the pious type, have you?” Funny thing to hear from the guy who actively tries to sneak out from any religious observation they had to attend.

“Mm. Not particularly.” Felix tosses his head like a horse, irritable, trying to dislodge a sweaty strand of hair that had fallen over the bridge of his nose. He sees Sylvain fight to suppress a laugh and slits his eyes at him. “Find me for what?”

“I’unno? It’s just been a minute. Guess I was getting separation anxiety.”

“You mean like what _babies_ have?”

“Yep,” he agrees, cheerful, before his tone dips into something less buffoonish. Felix recognizes it as the ‘At the End of the Day, I’m Still the Eldest Of You’ tone. He hates it. He hears it and feels like he’s eight again, smearing his snotty face into someone’s coatsleeve. It’s mortifying. “Have you seriously been here all day? It’s getting pretty late. Everyone’s cleared out, if you haven’t noticed. Actually, when was the last time you’ve slept in a bed? Remember beds, Felix?”

Sylvain does. Something, then. He reaches over as if trying to pet one of the scrappier strays roaming the monastery - one of those prickly things that would sooner bite your hand than accept its touch. Taking a lack of biting as allowance, he uses his middle and ring fingers to trace at the deep, purpling creases under Felix’s eye. He’s seen him do this sort of gesture before to girls’ lips, or trailing down the lines of their forearms, or following the swoops of their jaws from ear to chin.

It’s a cheap fucking move, yet he -

Felix smacks his arm away. “Get your hands off me. I don’t know where those have been.”

Sylvain opens his mouth. 

“ _Don’t_.” 

“Seriously, though! I know they like to call on us to deal with bandits and pirates and stuff, but it’s nothing you need to work yourself this hard for. You could stand to give yourself more leisure time, you know.”

“You could stand to give yourself less.” Felix turns away, a dismissal that would usually indicate that the conversation was over. “If you’re going to be this clingy, you can stick around. Or not. I’m going to stay here either way.”

Behind him, he can hear Sylvain humming thoughtfully, then making an approach. “Okay, why don’t we compromise? You can help _me_ practice.”

Felix considers this. Sylvain isn’t a particularly challenging opponent for him at this point; having had him as a regular sparring partner since their earliest years has caused Felix to pick up on all of his tells - when attacking, he always draws a breath before he strikes, and he’s got this area on his left flank that he’s always been particularly slow to defend. What’s more, he relies too much on the reach of his lance, or his increasingly competent reason spells, caught off-guard if an opponent comes within arm’s reach. And his aim sucks. It helps that Felix knew these weaknesses so he can compensate for them, but that also means he could easily exploit them. 

But he isn’t made of glorified firewood, at least. “Fine.”

Despite this, Sylvain makes no move to pick up a training weapon. 

“Hah, no, that’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you wanted to help me practice dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah. Byleth chose me to represent us for the White Heron Cup, remember? Thinking I could try to brush up on my moves.”

Oh, yeah, that. Neither the upcoming ball nor the White Heron Cup registered to him as anything but inappropriately frivolous, so they’d just plummeted so far down in his list of priorities he might as well have forgotten they were happening. 

“You’re not even dancing with a partner for the competition,” he accuses. 

“No,” says Sylvain. “But it helps, doesn’t it? Like how it’s better to spar with a live person than to just beat up some dummies. You’ve got somebody to measure up against.” 

Well, fuck! When he put it that way! “Sure, sure. At least you’re trying to pull your weight a little now, instead of going out and embarrassing us.” 

Sylvain winks. “I might embarrass you yet! The night is still young.” He then moves to arrange the two of them into a position typical of most ballroom dances; fanning the wide span of a hand over Felix’s waist, the other cupping the back of his shoulder. They’re light, careful touches, yet those points of contact make Felix feel pinned.

Before they can do anything else, something occurs to Felix. “Wait a minute. So I’m following? Why?”

“Uh, ‘cause one of us has to?”

“Yes, I realize,” Felix snaps. “But why me? You know we were both taught to lead.” 

He hums, feigning thoughtfulness. “I guess 'cause you're shorter?”

Felix responds in the only way possible for him to respond, which is to deliver a light, but startling kick to the inner part of Sylvain’s ankle. 

Deftly, Sylvain sidesteps it, then makes a show of looking all kicked-dog at him. “What's with the face?! I’m just telling the truth!”

“There’s no reason I shouldn’t-”

“Fine! Alright! You can lead!” 

Felix fixes him with a victorious look, and adjusts their position. He begins moving without warning, but Sylvain takes it in stride, allowing Felix to pull him along. 

Out of all the dances they were made to learn as children, he could almost say he enjoyed quickstep. It was more active and fast-paced, with many of his peers tiring of it too quickly. It was easier, here, to translate the footwork of swordplay into the choreography. To be light on your feet was a prerequisite. 

Felix comes to understand a lot about people through how they wield a weapon. Yet here, Sylvain moves differently than he does with a lance in his hands. He tends to fight with a sort of impulsivity that could only be deliberate, throwing himself in front of whatever may end him. When he’s dancing, he moves with ease, in equal parts skill and joy. It’s times like these that Felix can nearly see what all those girls see in him. Nearly.

It helps, probably, that they know how to work together. Sylvain's actions being predictive to him is something of a two-way street - he works to accommodate Felix’s off-the-cuff moves so deftly that it feels like he saw them coming beforehand. When Sylvain abruptly changes form, using the momentum of a turn to take back the lead and transition them into a slow, sleeping rotary waltz, Felix doesn’t falter. 

This isn’t to say that Sylvain didn’t sometimes catch him off-guard. Felix doesn’t falter when Sylvain moves them into the waltz, but he definitely falters when Sylvain decides to dip him. Not even a cradle dip! A full, ass-to-the-floor-if-this-fool-drops-me dip. He feels himself plunging backwards with only Sylvain’s grip on his waist between him and the ground, so, again, Felix responds in the only way possible for him to respond:

He hooks his foot around Sylvain’s, seizes a fistful of his jacket, and brings them crashing down together.

How efficient of Sylvain to land on top of him with the full weight of his big, horrible body.

Felix sucks in a wheezing breath. He’s got someone’s elbow jammed into his diaphragm, after all. He impotently scuffs his heels against the ground and shoves at Sylvain’s chest. “Get _off_ of me, you oaf,” he rasps.

Sylvain makes a sound like _aughh_ and rolls off of him, sitting up with his forearms resting across his spread knees. “Fe - _lix_ ,” he says, whining the second syllable, “What is your _problem_?”

“What’s _your_ problem,” Felix echoes, air coming easier to his lungs now that he isn’t being held down by however-many-pounds of noisy bullshit. 

“Lest we forget you’re the one that knocked us down.”

“Because you _dipped_ me!” Rubbing at his back, Felix hauls himself to his feet. “Whatever. I’m calling it a night. Find somebody else to rope into this.”

As he says this, he offers an outstretched arm to Sylvain. Sylvain’s face as he takes Felix’s hand and pulls himself up is. Odd. He’s smiling at him, but it’s one of his more self-satisfied ones. 

He’d wonder about it, but there’s no point. He’s in no mood to thumb through his Sylvain Microexpressions Directory. Or to acknowledge having such a thing. First, he has to go make sure the guy didn’t cause any of his organs to collapse. 

The following morning, Felix knows immediately upon waking that he slept right through half of their lectures. The long band of sunlight coming in through his dorm’s window is a vivid honey-gold. Not evening just yet, but it’s got to be past midday, at the very least. 

There’s a thin stack of papers slid under his door. When Felix goes to examine it, he sees that they’re notes from class. Underlined are the sections on reason magic, which Felix had been recently instructed to study.

Whoever gave him these notes wrote very lightly. In fact, they wrote like someone with the strength to snap their writing implement like a twig, if they weren’t careful. 

Felix huffs at nobody in particular, setting the notes on his desk. 

Another knock at the door brings him back on track. Thinking it could be Dimitri trying to drop off more supplemental materials, or their professor come to ask why he’s ditched three days in a row, he feels a bit surprised to see Sylvain leaning against the entryway, forearm braced on the doorframe. 

“Hey, Felix,” he says. “Just wanted to check up on you. I take it you slept in?”

Felix gives him a groggy scowl, shifting into a defensive posture. “Yeah, and? It’s not like you’ve ever been in any position to harangue someone for laying about—“

“Hey, no, I just meant that you seem well-rested!” He laughs. An honestly relieved one, bright but not pulling too high at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. Looks like our little practice session helped to get you off the training grounds for a few hours.”

He pauses. The way Sylvain said that - could the reason he approached Felix for help with dancing practice— “Did you plan that? Last night?”

Sylvain has that same look on his face as when he knows he’s about to secure a win at a board game, but is trying to keep quiet about it. “You think I’m capable of that kinda foresight? Nah. I really did need help.”

“You really do. No amount of charisma can cover up that sloppy footwork,” Felix agrees, flatly. “And your turns are too wide.” And with that, he shuts the door in Sylvain’s face with abrupt finality. He might as well use the remainder of the daylight hours to look over these notes. There’s an exam coming up for him.

Over Sylvain’s muffled cries of indignation, Felix bites his tongue on a laugh and calls out to him through the door. “If you still need help, I’ll be around,” he says. “Come find me later.”

With the bedroom door between them, Felix can’t see the face he makes in response. He doesn’t need to, to know what’s there.


End file.
